We step into a small but pretty room, with a white marble fireplace and wood-panelled walls. The registrar stands by the fireplace and we stand in a line, in front of her. Mouse’s hand tightens over mine, and my trembling quietens.
The registrar begins the ceremony. The words fade in and out. All I see is Mouse’s face. His eyes. His mouth. We declare we know of no legal impediment to our marriage. We contract to marry in front of our witnesses. We exchange rings. We kiss.
‘I love you, Erica.’
‘I love you, Mouse.’
223
Faye
‘You’re looking better than ever,’ Mimi says.
‘Thank you,’ I reply.
I cannot say the same back. She is wearing her full regalia today. Piercings and studs in place. Hair white and red. Miniskirt. Fishnets with holes in. Doc Martens. Not a look I like.
‘I’ve got another job for you,’ she says.
‘Good. Good.’ Fresh out of a session with my counsellor, I am trying to mean that. ‘What is it then?’ I ask.
‘A coffee ad for TV.’
I draw a sharp intake of breath. ‘Wow, TV, that’s fantastic. Do you know about Anthony Head? He did the Gold Blend adverts, and ended up in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.’
‘One step at a time, Faye. It isn’t Nescafé.’ Mimi leans forward, eyes burning with concern. ‘But it will increase your exposure considerably. I hope after everything that has happened you can cope with that?’
‘Yes. Yes. I’ve been having regular therapy. I can cope with anything now.’
I think of Martin and my heart lurches. I think of Phillip waiting outside and it tightens again.
224
Erica
Our wedding night. Lying in bed with Mouse in our new flat in Weybridge. Mouse moves towards me beneath the covers and puts his arms around my naked body.
‘We are about to consummate our marriage – are you nervous, Erica?’
‘Don’t ask questions. Just kiss me, Mouse.’
225
Faye
‘Don’t be late out today, we need to go to the supermarket before we pick up the girls from school,’ Phillip barks.
‘Well, if it’s a problem, I could pick them up on my own. You could go to the supermarket alone. We don’t need to do everything together.’ I pause. ‘And I don’t like to rush my sessions with Martin.’
Your face darkens. ‘So I’ve noticed.’ Your jaw stiffens. ‘I’ll just wait here as usual, thanks.’
I sigh inside. I step out of the car, slam the door and march away. Just standing on the pavement, away from you for a few seconds I feel calmer. Jonah and Erica were bad enough, but you are like a tsunami, engulfing me. You are always here, hovering too close to me.
I walk up the path and ring Martin’s bell. As soon as he opens the door, I am a teenager again. Heat permeates my skin by osmosis, and I know I must be blushing. My heart oscillates.
‘Can I get you tea, vodka, anything?’ he jokes, laughing blue eyes holding mine.
‘Better not hit the vodka. We’re going to the supermarket after this.’
‘Life is full of fun and opportunity,’ he says sarcastically as I follow him into the sitting room.
His clutter of treasures fascinate me. I see a piece of volcanic rock on the mantelpiece, nestled in a pile of dust. ‘Where’s this from?’ I ask, picking it up.
‘Mount Etna, Sicily.’
‘I’d love to go there one day.’
‘If you want to go there I’m sure you will. The world’s your oyster, Faye.’
I put it down and sink into my usual position on the sofa, opposite him.
‘I wish the world was my oyster,’ I tell him.
‘What’s been going on?’ he asks.
‘Phillip’s getting worse. He follows me everywhere. He even gets angsty if I am too long on the toilet now.’
Martin shakes his head, and crosses stonewashed-denim-covered legs. ‘Maybe you need to make more fuss of him, reassure him that everything is OK.’
Tears begin to prick behind my eyes. ‘I’m not sure I can. I feel so worn down, so trapped.’ I pause. ‘He still won’t let me open any windows. His reaction is too extreme.’
Martin leans towards me, eyes riddled with concern. ‘It sounds as if he could benefit from therapy too. Do you want me to talk to him?’
‘I’m not sure that’s a very good idea. He’s very envious of you.’
A long, slow smile. My legs turn to jelly. ‘Why?’ Martin asks.
My heart stalls. ‘Isn’t it obvious? He thinks I’m attracted to you.’
A quiver of his eyebrows. ‘Why would he think that?’
‘No idea,’ I say with a smile and a shrug of my shoulders.
Our eyes meet and we both laugh.
226
Phillip
You come out of your session with Martin looking invigorated and flushed, eyes shining enthusiastically. As soon as you get in the car your face closes.
‘I don’t want to go to the supermarket today,’ you announce provocatively. Are you just trying to antagonise me, Faye?
‘Let’s just go home and talk then,’ I say as I start the car engine.
We do need to talk about your attitude to Martin. You stood on the doorstep and put your hand on his arm again as you left, Faye.
‘Why did your session run ten minutes over?’ I ask as soon as we are standing in the privacy of our hallway.
You frown. ‘We were in the middle of something.’
The word something punches me in the stomach. I know what happens when you get up to something.
‘What exactly do you mean by that?’ I demand.
‘My sessions with Martin are confidential.’
The band inside my head snaps. ‘Your session with Jonah was confidential until he sent me a moving picture.’
Your face becomes ashen. I cannot control myself. I pin you against the wall with my body, grab your wrists and force your arms above your head, heart racing in anger. ‘I had to sort Jonah out. If anything like that happens again I’ll sort the next one out too. It’s in your own interest to learn to behave, Faye.’
‘What do you mean, Phillip?’
‘I told you. I know what happened between you.’
‘No you don’t.’
I put back my head and laugh, a harsh, angry, artificial laugh. ‘Don’t lie to me. I saw the film.’
‘The photo was contrived, so was the film.’
‘Don’t try that. You will never get away with infidelity again.’
227
Faye
Phillip, your words rotate in my head: I sorted Jonah out and I’ll sort the next one out too. I cannot sleep. I lie in bed remembering your anger. You lie asleep next to me, your face in repose, the face of the man I once knew and loved.
I sorted Jonah out.
What did you do?
The word trimipramine comes into my head. The tricyclic antidepressant stamped all over Jonah’s autopsy report. Trimipramine that interacted with zopiclone and caused his death.
And now I am so wired I cannot make myself stay in bed, so I get up, creep downstairs and begin to pace up and down our small sitting room like a cage-crazed polar bear. The police were suspicious of you. They took your computer. I breathe deeply in and out to try and calm myself. They didn’t find anything. But you are clever. Did you just cover your tracks with a scrambler? You know more than most people about things like that. You have always been a whizz with computers. The police didn’t find anything, I reassure myself. Not a fig. Not a trace. My husband, you must be innocent. I wouldn’t have married a man who would plan to kill another human being.
I am pacing around the sitting room, across the dining area. Walking past the table and a memory stirs. Two unmarked packages addressed to you, in brown jiffy bags, arriving when I was about to take Tamsin to school. So busy with the school run, and exercise, and Mimi. A detail so easy to forget, to ignore. I wish I could wind back the clock and to
uch those packages and open them. Would they tell me the truth? Tell me that my husband was a murderer?
Mind still working in overdrive, I force myself to pad upstairs and lie next to you, sleeping husband, who I pray is innocent. I fall into a restless sleep and know I am dreaming because I feel happy. And happiness doesn’t seem real to me these days. Holding hands with Martin, running along Riverside on a soft summer day.
‘Martin,’ I say. ‘Martin.’
I want to tell him something, but my mind is blank and the words won’t come. We stop running. He turns towards me and begins to kiss me. His lips feel like gossamer. But something is wrong. He is shaking me.
‘Stop it, Martin. Go away.’
I open my eyes. You are shaking me, Phillip. ‘What’s the matter, Faye?’ you ask.
My body is riddled with fear, with panic. ‘I was dreaming. That’s all.’
‘You said Martin’s name.’
You are looking at me with such hatred. As if you are a murderer.
‘I must have just said something that sounded a bit like that,’ I say, scrabbling with my right arm to reach for my iPhone, which is charging at the side of my bed. Fingers trembling, I press camera. It’s set on video so I know it will record. If something happens to me I want the world to know how.
‘You said his name. What did I tell you, Faye?’ I don’t reply. ‘I warned you. I killed Jonah. I poisoned him with trimipramine. I knew it interacted with the sleeping tablets zopiclone that he often overdosed on. The concoction he gave you wasn’t enough to finish anyone off. He was such a plonker he calculated the wrong dose.’ There is a pause. ‘If you ever sleep with Martin he’ll go the same way.’
My heart trembles with fear. ‘Phillip, I love you. I’ll never sleep with Martin.’
‘I wish I could believe you, Faye.’
228
Phillip
Now I have told you what I did, you understand my power. Now I think you will behave. But I still need to watch you carefully, Faye.
229
Faye
Phillip thinks I am with Martin. He is waiting in the car outside. But with Martin’s help I have given him the slip; left by the back entrance. I am rushing to the police station, heart racing, panic bubbling in my veins. Into the police station. A queue at the counter. I can’t wait, so I push to the front.
‘I need to speak to someone senior. Urgently. Right away.’
There is something so needy in my manner, in my laboured breath, my disarrayed state, that I am taken seriously and immediately escorted to an interview room. Within minutes DI Jones is here. I almost feel like hugging him with relief.
‘How can I help you, Mrs Baker?’
‘I need you to listen to something. I recorded it last night.’
I press the video I have recorded and hand him my iPhone.
Your words are so sharp, so clear. They sear into me all over again. I’m living with a murderer. I will never recover from this.
‘OK, Mrs Baker. Thank you. You have been very brave taking a recording and coming to see us. We’ll need to keep your phone – you’ll have to pretend you’ve lost it. We need to organise a party to come and formally arrest him and re-confiscate his computer. We’ve obviously not taken a close enough look. Can we get an unmarked car to give you a lift home?’
I feel my body trembling. I am in a cold sweat.
‘No. If he sees me in a strange car he’ll guess. He thinks I’m in my counselling session now. I need to get back.’
‘Will he be at home this afternoon?’
I am trembling so much now that I can hardly speak. I have to push hard for my words to come out. ‘Yes. He keeps an eye on me all the time. I’ll stay at home so he will too.’
‘We’ll be around in about an hour.’
‘You’ll have to tell him I’ve done this, won’t you?’ I almost whisper.
‘Yes.’
I try to keep calm. I try to breathe deep.
230
Phillip
Where are you, Faye? You are later than ever. I told you not to wear that short skirt and you disobeyed me. Your behaviour is getting worse. I slip out of the car and press down hard on Martin’s doorbell. Time to get my wife back. She’s mine, not his.
231
Faye
I burst through Martin’s back door, out of breath from running.
‘Did you do it?’ he asks.
I nod my head.
‘He’s losing it. He’s been ringing the bell continually. I’ll wait to hear from you later; you’d better get straight out there now.’
Through the kitchen, through the hallway, opening the front door, trying to catch my breath. You are standing on the doorstep, red-faced with anger, towering above me. My heart beats against my ribcage like a piston. I try to stretch my lips into a wide smile, but I don’t think they move.
‘Are you all right, Phillip? You seem very agitated.’
‘You’ve overrun by half an hour,’ you say as you grip my arm tightly and escort me towards the car.
‘We were doing a relaxation session, pre-prepared, on a recording that took longer than Martin realised.’
‘Why didn’t you ring me to warn me?’ you ask as you push me into the car.
‘Please be gentle with me, Phillip.’
You turn the key in the ignition. ‘Why didn’t you ring me?’ you repeat.
‘In the middle of a relaxation session? Make a phone call? That’s not really how it works.’
Silence coagulates around us as we drive round a few corners home.
Back home, I cannot bear to look at you. Two hours before we need to pick the girls up from school. You always come with me now. The police will be here before that. They promised not to do it in front of the children. These last few hours together are more than I can handle. So much fear. So much regret.
‘I’ve got a headache,’ I tell you. ‘I’m going upstairs for a nap.’
232
Phillip
Tidying the kitchen, worrying about why you’ve got a headache when three police cars arrive. The doorbell rings. What has happened? Has there been a local incident? I open the door. DI Jones is standing on my doorstep, mouth in a line, a team of officers behind him.
‘Can we come in?’ he asks.
‘Of course. How can I help?’ I ask as he and his team follow me through the hallway into our sitting area.
He stands in front of me, face stony.
‘I am arresting you for the murder of Jonah Mathews. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’
One of the officers is handling me roughly cuffing my hands behind my back. I am staring at DI Jones, open-mouthed.
‘Do you understand?’ he repeats.
‘Of course I don’t fucking understand. Where have you got this from?’
‘Your wife. We have a recording of your confession on her phone.’
How could you do this? How could you betray me? Anger incubates inside me. It rises like a volcano, merging with the searing pain of your betrayal.
‘So we have a warrant to re-confiscate your electronic devices, which will be more carefully investigated this time, and to search your home,’ DI Jones continues.
Judas, Faye. Judas. There is a thin line between love and hate. I feel my emotion, sharp edged and slicing, slicing through that line. If I cannot be with you, no one will. I will kill you and your second lover, as soon as I get out. I’ve killed once for love. I’ll kill for hate this time.
233
Faye
‘Are you all right, Faye?’ Martin asks gently, putting his arm around me as we sit on the sofa.
‘Just about. I’ve almost stopped trembling. He was shouting as they took him. Shouting about how he’s going to kill me when he gets out.’
‘That won’t do him any good. The police will have taken good no
te of that. He’ll be banged up for ever if they think he’s going to attempt murder as soon as he gets out.’
‘I hope so.’ I shake my head. ‘I never thought I’d say that about my husband. He was always so stable. So steady.’ I pause. ‘If only I hadn’t made that mistake with Jonah our lives would all be so different now.’
‘The way Jonah and Phillip have behaved was hardly your fault.’
‘But I was the catalyst. The trigger.’
‘Not intentionally.’ There is a pause. ‘How are the girls?’
‘Fine. I just told them Phillip was away on a business trip.’
‘You’ll have to tell them. They might hear something at school.’
‘I know. I just couldn’t face it today. How do you tell a six-year-old and a four-year-old that their father is a murderer? The police found some more trimipramine hidden under our bed. They think he was contemplating doing it again.’
Martin bends towards me and kisses me. This is not a dream. His lips do feel like gossamer. After a while I force myself to pull away.
‘After all that has happened, I need freedom,’ I tell him.
‘I know. And I need freedom too. I promise you I do not want to tie you down.’
I lean towards him and begin to kiss him again.
THE END
Acknowledgements
First, I would like to thank my agent Ger Nicholl, who believed in my writing and made everything possible in the first place. Next up, my fantastic editor Phoebe Morgan, who it is a great privilege to work with. The supportive team behind me at Avon-HarperCollins. My publicists Ruth Cairns and Sabah Khan. My friend Charles who once again acted as my police advisor. And all my chums, both within and outside my family, who give me much needed solace, friendship and fun. You know who you are, and how much I value you.
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